Page 114 of The Scot Beds His Wife
Reaching around to squeeze sudden tension from the back of his neck, he looked back through the decades. “Funny, mostly. Brigit loved to laugh, and if she wasn’t laughing, I wasn’t working hard enough. She had the patience of a banshee and was as stubborn as a fussy mule, but her laugh was my favorite sound on this earth.”
“Was?” Eleanor whispered.
Driven by reckless instinct honed by a lifetime of working with fretful creatures, Eammon brushed a curl backfrom her jaw, allowing the very tips of his rough fingers contact with her precious skin. “Well, I’ve heard another voice since I lost her… one I listen for every day.”
She stood stock-still, rapidly blinking those lovely green eyes as he trailed his finger up her jaw, tucking the curl neatly behind the shell of her ear. Emboldened, he traced the soft silver down at her hairline, finding the faded scar by her temple.
“Brigit,” she whispered tightly. “What a lovely name.” Then, to their mutual distress, she burst into tears.
Eammon panicked. He ached to hold her. Had she been any other woman, he’d have swept her into his arms. But he knew better than to imprison her against him. To show her his strength.
“What do you need, Eleanor?” he asked gently. “Should I get Alice? Or take you to her?”
“No!” Even through her tears, the word was strong. Decisive. “No, I found you on myown,and I left myself a path through the gate back to the castle. I’m not useless, you know. I may be blind… but I’m not broken. I’m still—still a—a woman.”
“I know that,” he soothed. Sweet Christ, he knew that. He’d been trying to forget for twenty bleeding years. “Tell me why you’re here alone. Tell me what I can do. What you need.” He pressed his handkerchief into her hand, and let her wipe her own tears and dab at her nose as she fought valiantly to compose herself.
“I—I found out I’m going to be a grandmother today,” she said around delicate hiccups.
“Aye, but isn’t that happy news?”
“The happiest.” Her chin wobbled, but a moment of biting her lip harder than she should brought it to heel. “And all I could think while congratulating my daughter-in-lawwas that I’d have never—that Gavin and I wouldn’t have survived that night if—I owe you my life, my son’s life, and now my precious grandchild’s life.”
A fresh wave of sobs overtook her, and this time he couldn’t stand it. He dragged her against him, and breathed a sigh of relief when she collapsed into his arms and clutched at his vest. The north wind blew… and he wished it to never stop.
“I think he makes her feel safe, Eammon,” she cried. “When he speaks to her he smiles, I can hear it. And even if he is hard or angry, he does not make her afraid. He does not hurt her, not even with his words. He’s a miracle, my boy. And after everything—” Emotion stole her words, and Eammon smoothed a hand over her silken curls, thinking that nothing ever was or would be sweeter than this woman in his arms.
“Whether he likes it or not, there is no mistaking his Mackenzie blood, but we’ve always known Gavin is not like his father.” It was a miracle, Eammon agreed. He hoped the world never again saw the likes of Hamish Mackenzie.
“No,” she said fervently against his chest. “He’s likeyou.”
His hand stalled in her hair. “What?”
“That’s what I came to tell you.” She sniffed as her sobs dwindled into little catches of breath. “Without you and dear Callum… Gavin might have been lost. After that night… well, I was certainly in no position to parent him. You’ve taught my son what it is to be a man. A decent man.”
Eammon made a face, wondering if “decent” was a word that should be applied to Gavin St. James just yet.
“Well… perhaps I should say a kind man,” she amended, and they both indulged in a breath of wry amusement at the thought of the Earl of Thorne’s notoriety.
“You honor me, my lady.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.
She turned her head into the kiss. “Perhaps… you could call me Eleanor when we’re alone.”
“Oh?” Both his heart and his brows lifted at her words, and Eammon suddenly wondered if he might be trapped in a surreal dream. “Do you intend for us to be alone again?”
“Often,” she breathed. Her skin tinged a lovely shade of peach that crept from beneath the high neckline of her dress. “If I may, that is… if you would…”
“Oh, Iwould,” he said with relish. Maybe next time, he’d steal a kiss… see what she thought of his beard then—
Behind him, Hermia shifted restlessly, tossing her head. A swift shadow moved in his periphery.
Something Eleanor had said permeated the unbelievable bliss coursing through him with a lance of pure dread.
She’d found her way down to the stables alone. She’d left herself a pathbackto the keep. Glancing over her head, he peered through the stable doors out into the courtyard across which the iron gate to Inverthorne Keep stood open.
He might not have been so wary had the north wind not been blowing quite so hard. He might not have seen the shadow materialize from behind the gate, nor noted the pistol in time to cover Eleanor’s body with his own.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
